Pound of Flesh

Your need to breathe forces your noise to subside, but the pain does not go away and you continue to whimper pathetically in his direction, begging inaudibly for release. But he pays no attention to your pleas for mercy. Instead he unties one of your hands. As soon as it is free, you try to use it to remove the pegs, but he holds it in a vice-like grip while he releases your other wrist. When he is gripping that one in a similar manner, he manhandles you like a suspect resisting arrest onto your front. This forces you to lean on the coat hanger and increases the pain in your sensitive breasts. You struggle but he is too strong for you and before you can escape he connects your wrists tightly once more behind your back with the cuffs.

With you securely restrained again, he turns his attention to your gag. He unbuckles the strap at the nape of your neck and helps you to push the ball out of your mouth. Your jaw aches from the prolonged presence of the intruder and you work it back and forth for a few seconds while he sits you up on the bed. You can feel your abused arse stinging where it makes contact with the bedclothes. He lifts the string of pearls over your head, then holds a glass of water to your lips and you drink deeply.

The removal of the gag and the water help you to recover some of your strength, although the harsh bite of the pegs is going absolutely nowhere. He can hardly get any meaner, so you throw caution to the winds and run the risk of antagonising him. 'Wanker!' you manage to snap in his direction.

His laugh in response suggests that he isn't upset. You are almost disappointed. 'Guilty as charged,' he says. 'But if you think that calling me nasty names is going to distract me from my plans for you, then you've got another think coming!'

He helps you to your feet, takes the coat hanger by the hook and uses it to lead you to the bathroom. Desperate to avoid inflicting any more punishment on your poor nipples, you stumble after him, thankful at least that he has removed your crazy heels. At least you can keep up now that you have bare feet.

Once inside the bathroom, he switches on the shower and turns up the heat setting. Soon the cascade of water is steaming up the room. When he is content that the temperature is warm enough he thrusts you under the flow. You gasp as the hot water stings your skin, but soon you become accustomed to it. He joins you in the shower and takes the coat hanger by its hook once again. As if every single fitting in the hotel was designed to suit his cruel purposes, he finds that one of the shower attachments is at just the right height for what he wants. He turns you to face it and although he has to pull upwards on the hanger, bringing a gasp of anguish from your lips, he manages to get the hook over it so that he can safely let go and stand back to enjoy the view. You are left effectively hanging by your clamped nipples and the only way you can avoid pulling on them intolerably is by going right up on your tiptoes. You almost wish you could have your shoes back to support your weight. For the third time this evening, you are reminded of your old ballet lessons, except your teacher, strict as she might have been, never went as far as attaching clothes pegs to your nipples to force you to remain en pointe!

With you in a state of semi-suspension, he sets about washing you, reaching around to cover your entire body. There is a tenderness about the way he applies soap to your skin, which belies the predicament in which he has put you. Methodically, he washes away all the traces of your encounter, tracing gently over the lines where he struck you with the cane. Even so, you cannot help wincing as he touches the damaged flesh.

When he is satisfied that you are clean, he keeps you attached to the shower but nudges your legs apart and reaches between them from his position behind you. In spite of yourself, your body betrays you once again and you can feel yourself warming to his nimble touch. Before long you can sense your own juices mingling with the water which rains down over your head and you start to moan once again with something other than pain.

He does not hold you back this time, but drives you swiftly to your orgasm. The thought crosses your mind that with your wrists cuffed, you have no more say in the matter than a piece of livestock being driven to market by the farmer. To complete the degrading image, before long you are squealing with excitement, which is made all the more intense by his absolute disregard for your dignity. He darts his finger back and forth over your aroused clit with great skill until you cry out in helpless lust. With the gag removed, you are free to make all the noise in the world, and you feel as if you do not fall far short of that standard.

When you are right on the edge, he speaks. 'Come for me,' he tells you.

As if your body was built to obey him, your latest orgasm crashes over you. Why on earth you should respond so strongly to a man who has bound, caned and now clamped your protesting body you will never know, but your mind is not being given the time to ponder the question. It is lost in a submissive fog as it succumbs to its third climax of the night.

As you come down from the high you feel him releasing the pegs from your nipples. Briefly this increases your pain as you feel the blood flowing back to your sore buds. By the time you have recovered your composure he has turned you to face him.

'My turn,' he says, pushing down on the top of your head.

You kneel obediently before him in the shower, noticing that his cock is already stirring. You wonder how on earth he is managing to find the stamina to get hard again, but he doesn't leave you unoccupied to wonder for long. With your hands still imprisoned behind your back and the hot water still cascading around you, he takes you by the hair and thrusts his cock into your mouth, which you open to receive him. In spite of the way he has treated your body, you feel a triumphant frisson of power as you sense him stiffening between your lips. You cannot help but want to bring him pleasure.

So you go to your task with enthusiasm, bobbing your head up and down in the honourable tradition established by every bound girl who is forced to give head without the use of her hands. It isn't easy when the water dripping down your face makes it even harder to breathe than normal, but you stick to your task admirably. Either because you do an expert job in spite of your encumbrances, or because he is turned on by having you suck on his cock in bondage, you soon have him groaning loudly. You prepare yourself to swallow his seed.

But he has other ideas. Before he comes, he switches off the shower and yanks you to your feet. You can tell how close he is to climax by the forceful way he practically drags you from the bathroom and throws you onto the bed without even bothering to towel you dry. You land on your cuffed hands and he is on top of you immediately. He must realise that it is uncomfortable for you to lie in this way with your hands trapped beneath your back, but he is past caring. He seizes your legs and parts them for his entry. With one thrust he buries himself to the hilt inside your slick pussy. Unlike your tight arse earlier, this hole welcomes him with enthusiasm and allows him to slide back and forth with ease.

His haste in entering you means that your legs are bent back once more. You know that you wouldn't be able to maintain this position for many minutes, but it's obvious from his demeanour that he will not last that long. He pushes his right hand beneath your head and grips your hair once more, using it to hold you still and get the leverage he craves. Meanwhile, his left hand is grasping your shoulder so firmly that you are convinced that it will leave another bruise to add to your collection of markings from the evening.

He fucks you hard and fast. For all the discomfort of your position, you find it incredibly hot to be used in this way. There is something so intense about his raw, animal passion which makes it incomparably better than any amount of tender love-making. In no time at all, you feel his muscles contracting as he completes the set of your holes in which he has come tonight. He has little seed left to give you after his previous orgasms, but you still take pleasure in the feeling of being filled up by him.

Exhausted, he pulls out of you and slumps beside you on the bed, gasping for air. As soon as he has recovered his breath he rolls you onto your side, facing away from him, and you feel him adding one more mark with the pen to each of your butt cheeks. You had assumed that the shower had got rid of them, but apparently not. Thinking back over what has happened, you realise that it's a draw for the evening. You have each had three orgasms and you can tell that he is spent. It's hard to imagine him having sex for a month after this.

Yet even so, he is clearly turned on by the sight of your arse. You can only imagine what it looks like after being caned and used as a tally chart, but the length of time he takes to enjoy the view suggests that it must present quite a picture.

'Can't you take these cuffs off?' you ask eventually, growing impatient with the delay.

'All in good time,' he answers. 'I need to record this moment first. We wouldn't want to forget the night when I turned my princess into my helpless little slave girl, would we?'

You can think of plenty of reasons why you will never forget it, some more pleasant than others, but he is evidently not to be distracted from his purpose. He gets off the bed and returns with his phone.

'Assume the position,' he orders.

You know what this means, but it's not easy with your hands cuffed behind your back. Eventually you manage to get onto your knees on the bed, with your head buried in the covers and your arse in the air on display. You almost expect him to start spanking it again, but he contents himself with taking a picture. Then he releases your wrists from the cuffs and allows you to turn over and lie down in a more comfortable position, although your buttocks still smart and your nipples are still sore.

He lies down beside you. 'Would you like to see?' he asks.

You suspect he will give you little choice in the matter and nod your head in response. When he holds the phone up for your viewing pleasure, what you see on the screen takes you by surprise. There is no doubt that the position does wonders for the appearance of your arse. It occupies the centre of the screen, round and pert, with your imprisoned hands resting on top of it and your engorged pussy visible underneath. The long red lines across your cheeks look even more shocking than you had imagined, but it is the shorter black ones which draw your attention. There in permanent ink, which even the shower has not managed to remove, is the evidence that the photo does not show an abused woman suffering from the pain inflicted on her, but a sated submissive who has conspired fully in everything which has occurred during the evening.

Perhaps he can tell that you are aroused by the image, because he takes the phone from you, wriggles down the bed and slides his head between your legs. As he goes to work with his tongue you reach above your head to grip the bars to which you were bound earlier and allow yourself to be carried away once again with desire. It is only afterwards, when you are lying snuggled against his sleeping form, with a final fourth mark on one of your buttocks, that you allow yourself the time to process everything which has happened. You realise, with a smile to yourself, that if you had the chance to go back in time by two weeks and make the decision again on whether to accept the terms of his offer which put you in this situation, you would do exactly the same thing again. Perhaps you had the best part of the bargain after all.